


World War Me (Standalone)

by mockingjaybee



Category: Bandom, Fal Out Boy
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Pete and Patrick (Fall Out Boy), Why Did I Write This?, i wrote so much using this trope, mostly pete though, patrick needs help, pete tries to help, trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjaybee/pseuds/mockingjaybee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete notices Patrick is different, in many ways. It’s not just the losing weight, but the.. well, everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World War Me (Standalone)

**Author's Note:**

> written in 2006, and was beta-ed at the time, but having to repost from an account i can no longer log into, so all mistakes are mine. there are some POV issues, so sorry about that!

I should have known sooner, but that’s not the point and I know leaning against the bathroom door. It wasn’t like I wasn’t watching Patrick all the time. But everyone misses things, right to the point when they blow up in your face.

Like the time Patrick said he would gain weight if he ate an apple, then left the room really fast. At the time, I thought nothing of it, now he knows differently. And, of course, I just smiled that goofy ass smile, and kept doing the interview, eating those cookies. Even the guy from Rolling fucking Stone said something.

And me? I just laughed it off.

Because that’s what I do best. Even as I’m standing outside this door, listening to everything, I almost want to laugh. But laughing would be the razor finally going into my skin. It isn’t worth it.

I bowed my head in something like a prayer, begging God that this is the last time, as I hear him make himself gag and heave. I start to cry. I could have said something, at any time. Patrick always sounded pissed off about food, like it was his enemy. Maybe it was, but I don’t understand it.

I heard him cry a little, and I sank to the ground, other memories rushing to my head. The time he looked, well, different is as good as I can say it, guess it, when I showed him what size I wore in girls' pants. After that day, I think I didn’t see him eat for a week. I mean, I’m not too sure about that, I wasn’t really around to be honest. We were back home, living our separate lives.

Fuck, I couldn’t save myself then, how was I supposed to notice this? Oh right, I’m his best friend. I should have watched closer, told him he was wonderful the way he was. I shook a little when it hit me on why he was losing his hair so young.

Fuck, maybe I am stupid. I have to be to not say anything for what, two years now? Anna left him, because, well, ok I don’t know, but Patrick muttered something about not being what she wanted.

I remember calling her a bitch, and he laughed, and walked away, saying he needed a shower, or something. I just went back to my sidekick.

He seemed happy that he was losing weight, but he was upset all the time. Looking back, he was trying to get us, all three of us, to figure it out.

Well, I did way too late, that’s for fucking sure. I’m out here choking out silent sobs, while my Patrick is in there, fighting the demons that make him do this. That make him think he isn’t good enough.

I’ve tried to tell him, show him, do everything I know, to show him he is perfect. That he is wonderful, and no matter what, I’ll love him. He says that's fine, and then he doesn’t eat again for a few days.

He flushes the toilet. I can hear him crying still, and mumbling, but I can’t make out the words. I keep thinking that I let this happen, because I’m Pete Fucking Wentz, asshole of the world that thinks more about his dick on the internet than about his best fucking friend who is killing himself.

The one that would never ask for help. Pete laid his head on his knees. Patrick was all but screaming for help, and he didn’t do anything about it.

Like, last week, when someone said something about Patrick losing weight, and looking so great now. I should have punched the asshole, but didn’t. Patrick smiled, and nearly hugged the guy though. I should have said something then.

Or when I caught him listening to certain songs over and over again. Songs about starving, and not eating, and being better for it. I asked him what his deal was, with those things, and all Patrick said was that he liked them, he was in the mood for them and to please leave him the fuck alone about it.

The day after he wasn’t listening to them as much, and because of it, I didn’t say anything. I figured he was making himself better because someone knew about it now.

Then the shirt, “Who needs figure anyway?”. Everyone but me laughed. They thought he was joking about being just the smallest bit chunky. I never saw him as such, I saw him as solid. Solid as a rock, one that never cracks.

I lifted my head at that thought, wondering what to do next. I finally caught him in the act, and had no idea what to do next. This isn’t one of those things WENTZ FACE EATS YOU fixes. A slap on the hand and saying 'no' doesn’t work. All I wanted to do is crawl into a hole and hide. Hide because out of everything wrong with my life, this was the worst.

My solid rock, my other half is failing, and I can’t help him.

I hear Patrick blow his nose, and brush his teeth, but I didn’t move. If I stood up now, I would run, and I can’t do that. I can’t run when I don’t know what to do. Now I can hear the footsteps towards the door, and I can see his shadow under the little crack at the bottom of the door.

I still can’t move.

When he opens the door, he looks like a deer in headlights, after it’s been hit.

“Hi.” Great job Wentz. Real smooth.

Patrick starts to cry, and slides down to the floor. I crawl towards him, wrapping my body around his. I can hear the mumbling now.

“I, I, I, just wanted to be better. I just wanted to look the best, be what everyone wanted, and then I couldn’t stop.”

I noticed he was getting hiccups while he was crying, and I just kept holding him, stroking his hair, waiting for him to get it all out.

“ _Pleeasse Petey_ ,” now I start to cry, “fix me, I don’t want to be broken anymore. I want to be the old me again, I liked that me.”

“Trick, I loved that you, and this you. Nothing will change that, nothing. I don‘t know how to fix this, because you aren't broken, you just need help. But I swear to God I won‘t let you do this alone.”

That made Patrick cry harder. I just held onto him. If he was going to crack, I would be there to pick up the pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so, 2006 was quite a year, note many people were using the "Patrick has an eating disorder" trope, and those who did got some shit for it back then. anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
